


Killing Frost

by Suchthingbutnever



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Porn With Plot, Sex Toys, Shower Sex, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 05:23:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suchthingbutnever/pseuds/Suchthingbutnever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little Holiday Ski-lodge in the Swiss Alps, an unforseen turn in the weather forecast and a complete lack of electricity. It should be hell, but it really isn't. / Ziam / Shameless PWP, tbh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Let's just sit and wait."

**Author's Note:**

> This was a response to a 1dkinkmeme prompt which read: “The boys are on a holiday to a ski lodge or something, and there’s like separate little cabins. Zayn and Liam have to share. Suddenly there comes a big snow storm, and they’re not allowed to leave their cabins. After about a week, they get really sexually frustrated and stuff cuz they’re away from their girlfriends(there’s no internet or signal on their phones) and they start to take that out on eachother(top!Liam please!!!).” 
> 
> Just so you know.

Within five minutes out of the car Zayn’s already decided that he likes great amounts of snow just as much as large bodies of water.

 

He stands shivering, the tip of his nose red, gloved hands buried deep in the pockets of his thick coat, while Niall immediately takes a dive into the so-called winter wonderland, rolls around until his blonde head looks crystallized. Harry and Louis are already heading towards their rented cabins, iPhones in hand, trying for signal and Wi-Fi.

 

Of course management hasn’t hesitated in terms of money. They’ve booked the priciest place they could find within the Swiss Alps and paid a nearby village catering service to stuff it with the necessities plus champagne and strawberries.

They’d all agreed to spend their first free weeks together before heading home, and since it was skiing season and Louis had felt like doing something new, Zayn is now on top of a mountain he forgot the name of, close to the Austrian border, and with no promise that he won’t just roll off one of those hills or get swallowed up by some avalanche.

 

“Alright there?”

 

Liam calls from behind, hands full with their luggage, helping Paul and the other lads unload their stuff. Zayn just shrugs and plugs his booted foot out of the inch-deep snow in an attempt to proceed uphill. Yes, of course he likes being with his band-mates, but he’s just yet to understand why people always have to go to places with H2O in states of liquidation or crystallization for holiday.

 

The wooden cabins are snug and lovely, huddled beneath three large Fir Trees that are a deep, Christmas green, the coats of blindingly white snow serving as decoration.

One cabin has an extended barn attached to it, namely the family resort, while the other one consists of just two rooms, double-bed big and woolly in the middle. It’s a getaway for newlyweds, the Swiss man with the enormous beard explains, they have a long list every year – all the lovers of the world want to spend their solitary vacation on this very mountain.

 

“Shouldn’t have built it next to the kids room.” Louis whispers and they all suppress their snickers while Paul’s directing their suitcases into various directions.

They all protest and complain after they’re told about the arrangement, they want to pair up, choose beds and whatnot, until Paul announces that there’s a whirlpool in the family cabin, for God’s sake.

Louis and Niall immediately scramble off to test the functions of it, and Harry naturally follows.

Zayn would’ve wanted a whirlpool, too, but he’s not as fussed. There’ll be more than enough time to go over and try out whatever’s so exciting about it. He and Liam settle with turning on their TV and unpacking while listening to some German news program. 

 

The rest of the day passes with more rolling-about-in-the-snow and spotting white-furred rabbits in their natural habitat. At sundown Paul and the rest of their security troop ride down the mountain again, leaving them with instructions to the nearest farm and extra cell phones for emergencies, but otherwise completely alone.

It’s new, after months and months of touring and being surrounded by people, to be all alone and far off. “It’s like the end of the world.” Zayn let’s slip and Harry just snorts while everyone else laughs at him being all sensual and moody. “Bradford’s the end of the world, mate, you’re getting all confused.”

 

They all retreat to their respective lodges after an owl starts hooting and Liam catches sight of glinting orange eyes somewhere behind one of the trees. “But I’d like to see what it was!” he protests when everyone else packs up.

“Well, we’d still like to have you for our next album.”

 

They’re all knackered, it’s more than obvious. Zayn hears Niall stringing about on his guitar, hears Harry reading something out-loud, but then everything goes quiet.

 

Liam’s changing into his favorite soft boxers for the night, toothbrush poking out of his mouth. Zayn sits on their shared bed and just admires the view for a bit. It’s not that he’s gay and crushing, just bi and appreciating. Liam is awfully nice to look at, with all his long muscles and slim waist. He’s mussing up his usual hairdo and gives Zayn a friendly little smile through the foamy toothpaste in his mouth. “Which side you wanna sleep on?” 

“Don’t care.” Zayn begins shedding his own clothing and strokes a hand over the soft duvet. He can sleep anywhere and everywhere. Besides, Liam’s breathing patterns are soothing, while Niall snores and Louis tends to roll around. Harry clings to people, wraps himself around limbs until they go numb. But Liam’s just soothing, he stays in his own private space, doesn’t move much and doesn’t wake up too easily, either.

 

So maybe Zayn would’ve wanted him to throw an arm across their double bed, he wouldn’t have protested if he were to scoot closer and attach his lips to Zayn’s neck. But a good night’s sleep is just as nice.

 

The wind outside is howling, but Liam’s lighted the fireplace and the crackling of dry wood combined with the fuzzy blankets makes his eyelids droop.

 

____

 

Zayn sleeps straight through the storm.

 

When he wakes up, the window is a blinding sort of white, the blue sky gone. Liam is standing at the door, still in his boxers, holding his phone and looking more than concerned. “You awake, man?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Zayn sits up and looks around. “What’s happened?”

“Storm. Got a text from Paul telling us not to move. He’s tried calling a couple of times, but the signal’s shite.”

“What about the others?” Zayn edges closer to the window and now realizes what the white stuff is. A wall of snow, at least eight feet tall, has formed overnight. If there was a second story to their cabin he probably would’ve been able to dive jump straight into it. But as it is, he’s more buried than anything else.

“Look.” Liam’s heading to the far wall and then lifts his fist to pound against the wooden walls as hard as he can. Immediately someone’s pounding back. “I guess they’re fine?”

“Do we have any electricity at all?” Zayn tries snapping the light on and off, then goes to their TV and switches the remote. No response. “What about water?”

“Hey, hey.”

 

Liam’s grabbing his shoulder before he knows what to do next.

“We’ll be fine. I’ve tried already, alright? Water’s cold but we won’t go without.”

Zayn just nods and sits down on his bed, dialing Niall’s number on his phone just to try. The connection is separated as soon as he’s pressed the button. Same with all the other numbers he tries. “Nah. Not helping.”

“Let’s just sit and wait. Paul will come up with something.”

 

And that’s all they do for the rest of the day. Liam checks the contents of their little kitchenette, finding enough to last them a month, if their careful and eat everything that spoils first. Then he looks into the cupboard where the wood logs are kept and rations them into separate little portions for each day.

All this preparing for survival is making Zayn sick to the stomach and he fights the chill that’s crept into the room with the failure of their heating system by wearing wool socks and one of his spare coats in bed. Thank god Liam’s still wearing his watch, otherwise they surely would’ve lost track of time.

Occasionally there is pounding against the wall and Liam goes to knock back. After a few hours they figure out a system to send across messages: One knock for A, two for B, three for C and so on. It’s fun in the beginning, with Harry trying to spell out that the whirlpool is still functioning, somehow, and Liam trying to tell them to go see how much supplies they’ve left. But after a while Zayn just can’t hear it anymore, all the beating and drumming and the fucking cold.

 

With the first shadows casting Liam starts lightning another fire, which he’s rather good at. Finally some warmth creeps back into their cabin and after a while Zayn moves to go find a kettle and brew some weird fruity European tea. While he’s at it, he also puts the chicken casserole catering had prepared for them yesterday in a pot and hangs it on an old hook near the fireplace. They’ve barely eaten all day.

 

“I feel like I’m in the middle ages or something.” Liam’s sitting down on the carpet next to him, sweater and a ridiculous fur hat pulled over his mop of hair.

“You look Russian, man.” Zayn says, and then he laughs, for what seems like the first time in ages.

“As long as it’s warm, mate.” Liam holds his cup tight and smiles a typical encouraging smile. “We’ll be fine. I promise. Just think of all the stories you’ll be telling the lot back home.”

“Yeah.” Zayn says, because he generally doesn’t say too much, and Liam’s somehow convinced him. Then he fetches two plates and they eat in silence.

 

They soon discover that without modern technology and given just one and a half room to move about, there really is very little to do. Liam busies himself with the rationing business he’s so good at, filling two iron buckets with the freezing water, just incase that should run out, too.

Zayn does the washing up and tries to ignore his blue fingertips, scrubbing the pot and the plates, feeling like a housewife in the 1800s. The wind has started to blow again, like thousands of animals joining into a ghostly chorus.

“Even more snow.” Liam says with a frown. “What’s it with this country?”

“What’s it with us coming here?”

“Hey now, grumpy.”

 

They send a few messages by thumping against the wall, stating they’re fine, with Zayn spelling out the letters and counting the whacks and Liam switching back and forth between his left and right hand to do the pounding. Niall answers that he ate all the crisps today and whether they’d be able to send over some. Harry knocks that they are all fine, except really bored out of their wits.

 

Zayn can only agree.

 

Liam puts in a few more logs for the night and somehow the temperature in the cabin rises so far that they both decide to strip to their usual gear. Liam’s lying on top of their bed, reading yesterdays Times, torso long and stretched. “Never bothered reading the papers, let alone Feuilleton-stuff. But it’s quite interesting, really.”

Zayn lies back down too, his teeth aching from brushing them with the icy water. He lets his eyes slide up and down Liam’s calf, his muscled arm, the dip of his navel. It’s weird what these mountains are doing to him – he always like Liam, liked looking at him, too. But right now it’s almost magnetic.

 

“Night, Li.” He mumbles while slipping under the covers. Liam just hums, and then extends a hand to stroke over his bared chest very briefly.

 

Zayn doesn’t sleep well that night.


	2. "I liked it, Li."

The storm hasn’t ceased the next morning.

 

If it’s morning at all, because they can’t see an inch of the sky and everything’s just as dark as last night. Zayn boils a couple of eggs, because the box says they were only going to last till the end of the week, and Liam goes over to pound against the wall some more. Louis ‘messages’ him back that one of Paul’s texts has finally come through and the local weather cast isn’t at all very positive about this storm. 

 

They sit in front of the fireplace and eat their eggs with toast and enormous chunks of ham Zayn’s managed to cut off. “Anyway, the whole thing was unexpected and everything’s blocked. Even the village down there. There’s a warning for anyone to come up, like, mortal danger.”

“Never coming to Switzerland again.” Zayn mumbles through a bite. “Fuck me, mortal danger.”

Liam just shrugs and frowns. “I wish we were with the others, though. I hate being separated like this.”

“Not really.” Zayn looks up and smirks a little. “Locked in with those three tossers? You’d go nuts within a few hours.”

Liam genuinely laughs at that.

 

For the next three hours they try tampering around some more with their phones and play fruit ninja on Liam’s iPad until it goes black. The new high score doesn’t lift the mood very much, though, and when one of the lad’s pound against the wall a bit later, they both just groan and bury themselves under the soft pillows.

 

“T – E – L.“ Zayn spells out loud, “L – Y”

“Telly?” Liam lifts his head a bit. “Their fucking telly is working?” And with a jump he’s up and half way across the room, pressing against the power button once again. “Fuck! Why?”

Zayn can’t help but laugh at that. “At least they’re preoccupied for now.”

“We aren’t.” Liam frowns and lies back down on his stomach. “This sort of sucks.”

“Mr. Grumpy-face.” Zayn grins and then rolls away quickly when Liam’s reaching out to attack him, half a smile on his face. “Ow, I’m ticklish there, Li.”

“That’s exactly the point.”

 

Liam tends to appear innocent but when he wants to, he can tickle the hell out of his best mates. Zayn gasps for air and tries to scurry away, tears of laughter filling his eyes. And for the second he’s just glad that he’s rooming with Liam and none of the others. Of course he loves them all, but somehow Liam just steadies him a lot more. Makes him smile more. His heart race.

 

They somehow end up in a very compromising position without Zayn noticing, and he usually registers all the soft gestures and warm smiles Liam gives him, let alone the moments when they’re on top of each other because of stage adrenaline or a rather brutal pillow fight in a random hotel room. Right now they are – Liam’s collapsed on top of him, breathing heavily, eyes closed.

 

Zayn stays motionless, still hiccupping a little from the tickle-attack.

 

Then his eyes grow wide because, uh, well. Liam’s hard. Against his thigh.

He considers saying something, because they’ll probably be stuck in this cabin for god knows how long, and awkwardness should really be avoided by all costs. But then he realizes he’s hard too, and there really is no going back.

Liam’s opened his eyes by now, and he’s staring straight at Zayn, mouth slightly parted. Yes, they’re both rather horny. Yes, it’s been a few days. And fuck yeah, they’re on top of each other. At least, that is what Zayn would’ve said.

 

And before the synapsis in his brain even know what he’s doing, he’s lifted his head up by a few millimeters and pressed his lips to Liam’s.

They stay like that for a bit, both not breathing, both unmoving. Then Liam nudges Zayn back onto the cushion and moves his lips, first tentatively, then with more force. Zayn kisses back and thinks to himself, numbly, that this damn storm had better not stop right now, because he’s finally getting to kiss Liam, and maybe more.

 

He can feel broad hands resting at his sides now, thumbing the waistband of his boxers, and the kiss is sort of heating up, tongues nudging, teeth clacking together occasionally.

“Oh, wow.” Liam whispers, all hoarse and wide-eyed. “Wow.” And then they’re back to snogging again and honestly, Zayn wants it to never, ever stop.

He lets his own hand glide down Liam’s torso, slip into his boxers and lets his hand grip his cock. Liam gasps into his mouth, immediately pushing his hips closer. Zayn’s a lad himself, he knows the exact movements that take men to the edge. 

“Fuck, Zayn.” Liam says into the quietness of their frantic panting while Zayn closes his fist a bit tighter, pulling, squeezing without hurting. If it were up to him he wouldn’t only be using his hands, but he’s trapped underneath Liam’s broad shoulders, and to be completely honest he’s too dazed to do anything but act on impulse and lift his own hips for friction.

 

They both come, Liam first, groaning and gripping the cushions, Zayn second, all quiet and sighing.

 

Then it does get awkward, much to Zayn’s dismay.

Liam scrambles off their bed and locks himself in the freezing bathroom for a good fifteen minutes until coming out covered in ice-cold droplets, lips blue from the shower. Zayn stays where he is and pretends to flip through the old paper that’s still lying around, pretends to not notice how Liam slips into fresh clothing and sits tensely by the fire, scrolling through his useless phone, probably reading old messages.

 

It carries on that way throughout most of the day. The silence isn’t companionable in the slightest – Zayn’s so worked up by two in the afternoon that his hands chopping at something random to put in their ‘all-things-fresh’ stew are shaking. So they’re two mates who got each other off. And snogged.

Big deal.

 

But maybe that’s exactly the point: it was more than just randomly getting off. For Zayn at least, he knows for sure that it would’ve felt much different if it were Harry or, God forbid, Niall doing him the favor. Then he almost chops his index finger off and swears with all his might, sucking at the blood. Liam’s being irrational and up-tight, damn it! They can’t very well ignore each other while being forced to share twenty-five square meters and the same toilet.

And why the hell is he always the one doing the cooking and cleaning around here?

 

Zayn’s one step short of turning around and just telling Liam all about his thoughts in more or less offensive language, but he feels his presence before anything else can happen.

“Let me have a look.” Liam’s placed a hand on his shoulder, slowly but surely forcing Zayn to face him. He’s all hunched shoulders and concerned eyes, hand reaching and taking, so rough and warm.

“’S nothing.” Zayn tells him, but inwardly he’s fainting a little bit at the sudden physical contact. “I’m fine.”

 

He’s just about to go back to chopping his leek and carrots for the merit of hiding his hard-on, when Liam’s suddenly scooping him up, one hand supporting his back, the other snaking around the back of his thighs and before Zayn can blink right he’s lying face-first on the unmade double bed.

“Liam, what the…?”

“Sorry.” Is all Liam says, and then he’s unbuckling Zayn’s jeans, leaning against him from behind. “I was a right twat. Will you forgive me?”

He’s about the only person who can phrase his words like that and still make Zayn melt like chocolate ice cream on fresh waffles. And he’s also the one tugging down his shorts, hand stroking over the exposed skin.

 

Zayn tries breathing normally, but all he hears is his own erratic heartbeat. So yes, maybe he’s dreamed about this before. Liam pinning him down and giving it hard, while whispering sweet nothings and smiling gently at the way Zayn cries out.

He almost chokes when Liam closes his hand around his cock and starts a gentle pace, stroking, teasing. His other hand is busy nudging Zayn’s thighs apart, circling his entrance, probing, and then –

“Holy fuck.”

 

Pushing in.

 

If Zayn was standing up his knees would’ve buckled. It takes him a second to register that he’s moaning, rather wantonly, too. Liam’s behind him, all strong arms and benign strokes, breath hot and pulsing against the back of Zayn’s neck. “Do you like it?”

Zayn deems himself unable to answer, because a second finger has been added, and Liam’s pushing in further and brushing past his spot…

 

He cries out instead.

 

“Zayn, tell me.” Liam’s still so steady, gliding in and out, not letting Zayn entirely get off by being fucked by a few of his digits.

“Oh.” Zayn’s breathy and shaky by now, eyes half-lid, cock straining. “Yeah. Oh, yeah. Oh. Yes Li.”

And maybe that’s sufficient, because Liam gives his dick a good squeeze, while simultaneously pressing the tips of his fingers against Zayn’s little magic spot right there, and he’s coming harder than he’s came in a good while.

 

When he regains all his senses, Liam is still sitting next to him, eyes somehow still concerned. “Did I hurt you?”

Zayn can’t help but roll his eyes. “No, Liam.” What a stupid question, he adds mentally, before sitting up and kissing Liam full on the lips.

“I…hmmpf, I was just wondering.” And the Liam’s pushing him down again. He’s so different in a lusty haze – of course, still concerned old Liam, but a tad more cheeky. Eyes darker. Lips parted, voice rough and with an entire new use of words on display.

“I liked it, Li.”

 

Liam blushes when he realizes that that was an answer to his question, and Zayn lets the embarrassing butterflies in his stomach carry him back to their kitchenette, where he finishes chopping up their lunch with Liam’s eyes trained to his boxer-clad arse.

They eat, and though Zayn knows he’s not the best of cooks, they do finish most of it. Liam tells him to go have a lie down, he’ll do the dishes, it’s only fair.

 

So Zayn spends a few minutes sitting on the bed, snow falling softly outside, making the white wall higher than ever, before he follows his natural instinct and closes his eyes.


	3. “Too much.”

When Zayn wakes up it’s dark.

 

Not the usual kind, but pitch-black, with the wood logs glinting and orangey at the fireplace. Liam’s breath is gentle against his back, a heavy arm splayed out, resting on Zayn’s waist with what could perhaps be possessiveness.

 

He can’t help but flush a little at the thought.

 

Then he feels the gentle ache between his legs and it all rushes back to him, the entire afternoon. A quick check on his low-battery phone tells him that it’s only seven, and they’d laid out the chicken, earlier, so Zayn could try a few things he’d seen his mum do, maybe experiment a little bit. He gets up carefully, eyes trained on the dark line of Liam’s shoulder.

 

Restarting the fire is a lot easier, and the soft light makes the room appear almost peaceful, if the once again raging storm was to be ignored. Zayn goes to the kitchen and squints to find the necessary things, it pretty much sucks to cook without electricity. He manages to tear the meat into slices and moves the pot towards the now bustling fireplace, meanwhile he thanks God thrice over that he lives in the 21st century. There are already three or four burns on the back of his hand from his attempts to cook food on actual fire, never minding the nasty deep cut from a few hours back.

 

Then he just sits and stews occasionally, enjoying the last of his phone battery with his ear-phones plugged in and music blasting. It’s almost got a meditative character to it.

 

So when a hand is placed on his knee all of a sudden, Zayn spills quite a bit of the boiling soup.

“What the fuck?”

Liam’s crouching behind him, the fire, as the only light-source, reflecting from his eyes, flickering. And then Zayn is suddenly putting down his cooking spoon, pushing Liam back until he is supporting himself on his elbows. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah.” Liam’s eyes are fixed on him. The shadows prevent Zayn from seeing his exact expression, but at this stage it’s not hard to be imaginative. “You’re warm.”

And Zayn really is more than eager to show his band-mate just how warm he can be. He unbuckles Liam’s pants that he was still wearing while falling asleep on Zayn, and touches the already semi-hard cock with one finger, tracing up and down.

 

Then he’s kneeling between Liam’s legs, lowering his face until it’s at one level with the head, eyes darting up to see that Liam’s thrown his head back, chest heaving with the effort of staying still. Zayn almost laughs at that – but much rather he just bends down and takes it all.

He’s not the most practiced person in the world, so naturally he begins to gag half-way through. He can feel Liam’s hands coming down and pressuring him just a bit. It makes Zayn all hard to feel that grip in his unkempt hair.

Then he’s sucking, hollowing his cheeks, flicking his tongue, kissing down the entire shaft – it’s like he’s improvising to compensate for the lack of his experience.

 

Liam, quite in the contrary, appears to know exactly what it’s like to be on the receiving end. But the little groans that escape him every now and then tells Zayn that he must be doing something right.

“Oh God, fuck.”

Swearing is perhaps also positive, Zayn thinks while he follows the guide of Liam’s hands and feels the shift of his hips. He tries to hold still and let Liam take on a pace that he likes, the head of his thick cock hitting the back of his throat.

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Zayn.”

 

And then Zayn feels himself getting yanked up for some reason, and then the wet splash of something across his cheek. Liam’s breathing is audible and frantic, and he’s apologizing now, scrambling to find something to wipe. “God, mate, I’m sorry…”

But Zayn’s already reaching up to coat a finger with the – yeah, it’s come, and guiding it towards his lips. It tastes salty, musky. Intimate. He licks his lips and swallows, before just smudging across his face in an attempt to clean up.

 

Before he knows which way’s up, Liam’s already lunging at him with a deep growl.

 

The air is knocked out of lungs and his head hits the wooden floor with a thump. Then Liam’s kissing him, no, he’s much more biting at his lips, hands determined and pressing at his shoulder and hips. Zayn gasps and closes his eyes, his head spinning, lifting his hips cooperatively at Liam’s violent tugging – they struggle until his boxers are off, the T-shirt flying somewhere in the general direction of their suitcases.

 

Then Liam’s kissing along the plane of his chest, mouth hot and fervent, and Zayn’s clutching his shoulders, legs spreading automatically to allow his band-mate more room to move. His head is by now filled with nothing but random flashing images of Liam’s exposed skin, and he’s so fucking glad they’re in fucking Switzerland, because the enclosed room suddenly doesn’t feel small anymore, but cozy and private. 

He lifts his hips and groans when he feels Liam’s hand snaking down on a familiar path, spreading his cheeks, prodding, softly stroking the sensitive skin. “Oh fuck.”

Liam’s absolutely breathless when he bends forward and lets his newly erect cock nudge against Zayn’s little opening. They can both hear the stupid soup boiling on the hook by the fire, but none of them move to remove it.

 

Then Zayn’s moving his hand down Liam’s spine, pressing him to get started, for God’s sake.

 

And then he shoves into him, almost a tad unceremoniously. Zayn’s too busy relishing the stretch, the burn of it, to notice anything, really. If the snow was to melt this very moment, Paul barging in to supposedly rescue them. Or the Zombie Apocalypse.

It hurts, but Zayn wants to feel it, and Liam’s doing his best to go slow, teeth gritted, fists bruising Zayn’s hips to keep himself from just ramming away in the hot tightness.

 

“Oh hell. Liam. Do. Something.”

 

And Zayn genuinely means it. He can’t stand the ripping fullness of it much longer, the burning low at the pit of his stomach. And even though he asked for it, he can’t help crying out in surprise when Liam just snaps his hips up once, twice, thrice over, finding a steady pace, fucking Zayn into the furry rug in front of the fireplace.

It’s like they were born to do this, all day long, Zayn thinks to himself while lifting his hips up and moaning louder than he’s ever dared to. Liam is so big and God, he’s found the spot within minutes, aiming and hitting hard.

 

It’s all too much to handle, too fast, too hard, but also not enough at all. 

 

The fire flickers softly as their soup boils over and Zayn arches his back and spreads his legs wide to allow Liam more access. Of course he’s not a total virgin, otherwise this wouldn’t be nearly as enjoyable, but Liam’s just the right kind of big that rips him but doesn’t tear him apart, that has him breathless and moaning and God.

 

“Oh. Liam, yeah. Yeah.” His loudest moan is drowned out by the howl of the wind a sudden clatter in the bathroom. They both don’t bother stopping even a second, Liam holding him down with a bruising grip, hips driving. Now that he realized how much Zayn can take, he seems less hesitant to give.

 

When they both come it’s like years of painfully sharp movements have passed, Liam groaning out loud, Zayn muffling his scream by biting Liam’s shoulder.

 

He just simply falls back after that, only noticing vaguely how the thick pressure inside him slides out with a slick pop and his legs are pushed apart, a finger re-entering him softly, almost delicately.

“God, Liam.” Zayn can feel the tears coming. He’s just so raw and sensitive right now, even that one digit is already kipping him over the edge all over again. “Too much.”

“Hmm, Zaynekins. You really like this, don’t you?” Zayn lets his eyes fall shut and feels another track of wetness run down his cheek bone, Liam is adding another finger, prodding, searching for that little spot of magic he just successfully hit, over and over again.

And then all of a sudden the fingers are gone and Zayn’s eyes fly open, his heart beat stops for a second, when Liam bends down and flicks his tongue against the inside of his thigh. “Oh – Li – Liam. Oh. Oh.”

 

“Stay, stay like that.”

 

And then he’s left all alone. Liam’s disappeared into the bathroom, still naked as can be, sweat trickling down his back, making him glisten, accentuating the muscles he’s always so keen on training. Zayn sits up and tries to get his legs straight without crying out.

He manages to get up so far that he can remove the pot from its hook at the fireplace, throwing a disgusted look to the mashed-up, half-burnt contents. Liam’s cum is slowly dripping down his thigh, and Zayn lets out a shaky moan before dropping the pot somewhere on the ground near the kitchenette and getting back onto his knees. He daren’t sit down right now.

 

“You moved!”

 

Liam’s back, and he’s holding a brush in his hand. Zayn frowns in confusion while trying to settle down without maltreating his sore backside too much. Then he sees the knobby handle of the brush and he can’t help but whimper a little bit.

 

They’ve only just had sex now.

 

So maybe Zayn’s dreamed of having Liam all to himself before, even if his fantasies didn’t involve being caged in a little Swiss cabin somewhere on top of the world. He just never imagined how willing, eager Liam would’ve replied.

 

So maybe it’s true, they’re in here without any means of communication, nor electricity. By now both their phones are so low on battery that they didn’t dare use them unless it was something of real importance.

Without all these things to pass the boredom, and them both being in their prime years and whatnot, the hand-job, the fingering, the blow-job and the fucking maybe weren’t even surprising. Maybe people, including Zayn, just didn’t give Liam enough credit, thinking of him as innocent, good-hearted and sweet. Well, he had his needs too, didn’t he?

 

“C’mon, Zayn. Give me a little show.”

 

No, definitely not innocent. Zayn gulps, eyes trained on Liam’s cock that’s half-mast already, anticipating, on its way back to excitement. Then he gets up, reaches out to take the brush and settles on the bed, leaning against the head-board with a little sigh. Liam sits down at the foot of the bed, pupils blown, chest heaving. He’s palming himself already.

 

Zayn’s already spread wide enough to allow the tip of the handle entrance. He can’t help but throw his head back with a thud when he feels the cold, smooth wood against his flushed skin. “Oh, Christ. Oh.”

Liam’s fist is moving so fast it’s almost a blur, and Zayn would’ve laughed if his hand didn’t just slip and pushed half the length of the brush-handle into him. He moans, hitches his breath like a porn star, and registers at the corner of his consciousness that this has gone way too fast, this thing with Liam and then he’s slammed back down with force, the hard smoothness of wood being immediately replaced by something hot and much bigger.

Liam’s keeping him from breathing by sucking on his tongue, meanwhile choking up things like ‘don’t know how hot’ and ‘god I just want to fuck you all day long’. His hips are back with the rhythm, only more intense and Zayn swears he just passes out, because the pleasure has reached a limit where it’s merging into sweet, delicious pain. He’s not sure who’s screaming but since there’s no-one else in the room taking a good pounding, it’s probably him. 

 

He comes and simultaneously everything just goes black.


	4. “Shagging.”

The next time Zayn opens his eyes it’s because of the clatter of something loose hanging down their roof.

 

The wind is wilder than ever, blowing against the windows, rattling.

 

He can’t say what time of the day it is, with the room tinted gray and Liam asleep next to him, an arm thrown lazily over his middle, breath soothing against the crook of his neck. Then, within a split-second, the memories rush back and Zayn goes rigid while the ache all over his body just sort of takes over. Oh God. Oh God, the sex.

 

He surely wouldn’t have imagined it to turn out like that, not in his wildest dreams (and he had a quite a few). He relished the mental picture of Liam, private, sex-driven Liam, and for a few seconds he pretended that he was the first and only person to have evoked it.

The he immediately shrugs the thought off. Liam is mostly presented as the responsible, sensible, practical one. Because being in a boy band makes you filthy rich, and gives you images to hold on to.

 

Obviously he had to get his experience somewhere else. And whoever that person is that got to touch, hold, bite Liam first, Zayn honestly envies them, if only in a very childish way.

 

Zayn sighs softly and then turns to snuggle back into Liam’s arms. He’d always presumed that being intimate with him would’ve automatically meant something more – but as it is, Liam doesn’t seem to need any emotions involved.

 

He drifts back to sleep after a while, thoughts completely off the fact that there’s a storm raging outside, burying them further from civilization than ever.

 

He wakes to find the fire lit and crackling, and the smell of coffee brewing. It’s almost comforting, in the chill of their little cabin. Liam is standing in their kitchenette, hands cradling a big cup, snow-boots on to protect his feet from the icy tiles that stretch all the way to the bathroom. He smiles when he notices Zayn sitting up.

 

“The other’s just knocked. Said their telly is out again.”

 

Zayn crawls out of bed and rubs his eyes before barking out a laugh. “Well, serves them right.” He reaches out when Liam walks towards him and takes the cup, warm, milky coffee sliding down his raw throat.

“True.” Liam sits back down on the bed and moves to take off his shoes again. “I moved the milk and eggs to the bathroom, just in case they’ll spoil.”

Zayn nods, eyes roaming over the wide span of Liam’s chest, smooth and bronzed from touring all over the world, in places where the sun’s bright, aggressive and the elements aren’t out against them. “Right.”

“So,” Liam says, and his smile his typical and believable. “We did find ways to entertain ourselves.”

 

Zayn splutters on his coffee.

 

Liam takes back the cup and claps Zayn on his back sympathetically. Then he leans in and places a soft, yielding kiss just on the right corner of Zayn’s lips. “You were probably the biggest turn-on of the century.”

Zayn can feel the heat rising in his tummy again, and he casts his eyes down, suddenly overcome by something akin to shyness in the face of how… how vigorously they’d fucked.

 

“I was thinking about that morning blow-job.” Liam sips the coffee, expression pensive. “Or rather evening, it was evening right?” He looks down on his watch, ticking away happily – it’s half past five in the morning. “Anyways, I was wondering where you learned… all that.”

 

Zayn stares at him, shocked, slightly bemused that Liam is actually using their mutual orgasms for small-talk. “Uh, I never actually… I guess I sort of improvised?”

 

Liam looks at him, and then goes to put down the cup on the next flat surface. Within seconds he’s back on their bed, eyes flashing with the expression that had so greatly occupied Zayn’s thoughts earlier on.

“Did you ever, before?”

“I, uh.” Zayn’s went down on girls before. He’s received tons of blow-jobs. “No?”

 

And suddenly Liam is up against him, hands pressing down on the familiar spots and Zayn realizes that the idea of being the first isn’t only appealing to him – Liam obviously wanted it too. And now that he’s got the confirmation that his cock was indeed the first to ever touch Zayn’s lips, he’s turned on.

 

Turned on to no ends.

 

And to be fair, so is Zayn.

 

____

 

The rest of the day is a weirdly blurry merge of, well.

 

Of sex.

 

Once Liam had pressed him back into the sheets, it is unsurprisingly hard to get out again. After the first frantic few moments, they settle into a rhythm that verges on lazy – Zayn spread out, eyes half-lid, with Liam’s weight pushing him, hips grinding.

 

After a while, they even start conversing properly.

 

“Oh. Right there.” Zayn’s the first to open his mouth, more on impulse than anything else, simply having to respond to the delicious friction spreading through his abdomen in flicking spikes. Liam just nuzzles into his neck and tries the angle again with a sloppy, languid thrust, grinning when Zayn gives a small moan. “There?”

 

“Yeah.” Zayn breathes out, and then cocks his head to the side a little bit, catching the glint in Liam’s eyes. “deeper would be cool, though.”

“Deeper?” Liam pushes himself up on his elbows, looking straight into Zayn’s eyes. There’s something mischievous about him that Zayn hasn’t yet seen, despite knowing him for quite some time now.

“Like this.” He hooks his legs behind Liam’s back and pushes up with an arch of his back. He repeats the motion a couple of times, and can’t help himself with the little grin that tucks on the corners of his mouth when Liam squeezes his eyes shut and grits his teeth to keep from groaning out loud.

 

“Got it.”

They look at each other, both breathless and flushed. Zayn sighs inwardly at the permanent stretch tearing at him, at the way Liam’s knuckles are white from holding him.

 

“I’m doing alright?” Then, suddenly, the intensity is back – Liam snapping his hips up sharply. His eyes hold a challenge, and Zayn accepts without batting an eyelash.

“You pass.” He buries his hands in Liam’s curls and tugs a bit harsher than he usually would. It’s almost a bit scary how they’ve gone from best mates to best fuck-buddies – so seamlessly, like it was what they’d always planned to do.

“You’re grading me now?” Liam barks out a laugh, and had the mirth in his eyes not been so obvious, Zayn would’ve thought he was offended. “What do I get, then?”

“B minus.”

 

Of course Liam’s not a B minus.

Zayn’s had his fair share of sex by now, but none of it had been so utterly mind blowing, none of it had made his head spin this way. But this little game they are playing is all sorts of fun, and well, Liam’s still rigid and swollen and inside him – Zayn sort of wants to know how much better he can get. Whether he can top the sex they had yesterday. God, was it yesterday?

 

“Okay.” Liam says, in a tone that is normal as can be, but just screams of the need to prove him wrong. “Not changing your mind?”

“Try harder.” Zayn almost blushes at the hinted meaning behind his words. But he doesn’t drop his gaze, just stares ahead, at Liam’s lovely light brown orbs, at the crinkles on his forehead –

 

“Oh.”

 

Without warning, Liam’s holding himself up again and pushing back in with such a force that almost knocks Zayn against their headboard.

“Bloody hell.” Zayn feels his vision go white for a second, his insides are tingling from the delicious hardness pressed into him. He aches for another thrust, for a pace so damn fast he’ll find release with a big bang exploding behind his lids. But Liam isn’t moving.

 

He opens his eyes, questioning, lips parted, when Liam snaps his hips up again, and it’s so unexpected that Zayn just simply comes.

 

“How’s that?” Liam’s whispering against his ear, tongue darting out while Zayn scratches red paths down his back and moans breathlessly.

“Oh, oh. Fuck. Oh.”

“Can’t hear you.”

Then Liam just sets a pace that has Zayn completely… uh, fucked. Somewhere in between, his cock is rigid against his stomach again, and he just feels raw and sore, and so amazingly good that je wants to just stop the time and savor the sensation, because he’s so damn certain he’ll never have sex this good ever again.

 

When he feels able of talking again, Liam’s already rolled himself half-way off, eyes trained on his face, expression somewhat smug. “Let me see, you said: Yes, fuck yes. Fuck me. Is that an A?”

“Cheeky bastard.” Zayn can’t help but laugh. “Whatever.”

“Hmm.” Liam’s snuggling him now, arms sweaty, sticking to Zayn’s chest when he tugs himself closer. “Awesome.”

Zayn attempts a snort before going back to regulating his breath pattern, closing his eyes at the same time. God, he’s exhausted.

 

“Wait!” Zayn sits up in a frenzy when Liam’s suddenly gripping his arms upright.

“What? What?”

“Did you hear the others knock?”

 

Zayn just groans and lies back down. “No? I had your cock up my arse, if you forgot.”

Liam’s looking all Liam-esque and worried again, sitting up and casting the far wall concerned glances. Then he pulls in a breath and Zayn hears it too – the knocking. They both hold their breath and count.

 

“Nineteen.”

“That an S.”

“An H?”

 

Liam’s brows are still furrowed when Zayn realizes with sudden dread what the word is.

 

“Shagging.” He says, while Liam just burrows his face into the pillow.


	5. “I think we shouldn’t stop.”

The storm stops for good at midday. 

 

Liam had found a tub of melted ice cream and they are using it as vanilla sauce over the gradually softening apples Zayn had put on sticks and roasted over the fire, when the TV just springs to life and flickers to send images of some bad Austrian soap over. Liam whoops and drops his apple into the fire while skipping over to plug his phone into one of the sockets. 

 

They spend the afternoon drowsing on the bed, watching a synchronized version of Batman Begins. At half past three they both take a deep breath and simultaneously start checking their messages and missed calls. 327 for Liam, 291 for Zayn. Paul calls a while after that and tells them they won’t be able to come up until maybe the day after tomorrow, when these imbecile Europeans finally find someone to clear the road. He’s all worried and tells them not to panic and for heavens sake not try to go out yet. 

 

“I suspect the others might try.” Liam says darkly, before going over to knock on the wall and tell them about Paul’s instructions. He ignores the lewd messages pounded over and goes on to call his mum, while Zayn lounges and lets his phone go black again. Somehow, he just isn’t very keen on getting back in touch with anyone yet. Sure it’s nice to have the prospect of getting out and down this sodding mountain soon, but he also feels a twinge of disappointment…

 

“God, she was crying.” Liam tries to tug his phone back into his pocket until he remembers that he’s only wearing his boxer shorts. “I mean, I’m fine.” Zayn just shrugs and looks down on his phone, reluctant to check the twitter app. 

He sucks back a breath when he scans the newsfeed. People are hysterical, more hysterical than usual, if that’s actually possible. Screaming teenage girls, paparazzi going mad with speculations. A website called R.I.P. Niall. “Oh fuck.” Zayn puts the evil thing away and for a minute he wishes that it was still snowing and the telly was still out. 

 

“Hey.” 

 

Zayn looks up and suddenly Liam is up close again. Before he can think right they’re already kissing, rather hungrily, too. Liam’s leaning over heavily, and Zayn slips off the side of the bed, tugging a few quilts along. They land on the soft rug and Zayn doesn’t bother with such unnecessary things as breathing anymore. 

 

Liam’s on top of him, eyes never leaving his, and he just wants to ask – was this a one-time-cabin-hormones sort of thing, or is it going to be… whatever? “Whatever,” he repeats out loud while gasping against Liam’s lips. 

“God, Zayn.” Liam’s hands are cupping his face, “this is insane.” 

Zayn agrees silently by pressing his hips up and feeling the hardness of Liam’s erection rub against his leg. “What…” he starts saying, before Liam is tugging his shorts down and closing his fist. “Oh bloody hell.” 

 

And even though Zayn now knows that the others can hear perfectly clear, especially with the calmness after the storm settling in, he can’t help himself but cry out. His head is knocked repeatedly against the foot of the bedside table when Liam places his first few thrusts too enthusiastically. 

They both come way too quickly, clutching each other desperately. Zayn feels dizzy with all the sensations crashing in and it occurs to him that every single time they fucked Liam had managed to knock him out, off, down. He sort of dreads the thought of ever missing out on this sort of sex in the future. 

 

“God, Zayn. Fuck, I’m sorry.” Liam’s sitting up, putting a gentle hand on Zayn’s forehead. It takes them some time until they’re standing upright and heading to the toilet. They’re both sweaty as hell, the heating system having snapped back into functioning sometime without them noticing. Combined with the crackling fire, it’s almost unbearably hot. 

 

Liam cheers loudly when after five minutes or so the waters starts getting warmer, until the room is so steamy they can’t even see each other properly, and they are filling both the bath tub and running the shower. 

Zayn eases himself into the tub first, enjoying the slushes of hot water all over, the soreness retreating to a gentle, perhaps even pleasant ache. Liam’s outlines are vague through the muggy, heavy air, but he’s throwing almost an entire bottle of product over his head and rubbing. They haven’t had proper showers for days, with the cold and the freezing water. 

 

He lets his eyes trail the blurry outlines of Liam’s broad shoulders and then suddenly he’s up again, head spinning as his blood rushes. He slips and slides across the bathroom, steadying himself on the fogged up glass door, leaving behind finger prints until pushing it open and squeezing into the hot, humid little space. 

Liam splutters at him through the water and rubs soap out of his eyes, then he’s leaning in and they’re making out. Again. 

 

Zayn runs a hand down the flushed skin of Liam’s back and sighs when a hand slips towards his backside to prod. He’s still stretched enough from their earlier activities to not need any preparation. Liam seems to think so too, because his fingers are in within seconds, three at a time, sliding easily. He’s came deep, so there’s still enough lubrication and Zayn’s leaning against the soaking walls, trying to spread his legs as wide as it goes. 

Then suddenly Liam’s hoisting him up, directing his hands towards the shower-head holder. Zayn tries to keep from slipping off and wraps his legs around Liam’s waist, head empty besides the thought of Liam and his cock and the hot water coming down. 

 

Of course they end up breaking things. 

 

Liam gives up on trying to fix the shower door and they both go to dry off at the fire place. It’s like they both know that once Paul gets them out, there will very likely never be a time and place again where they can just go about it so freely. 

So Zayn gives another blowjob kneeling down in their kitchenette, with the water boiler rattling behind them and Liam gripping the edge of the counter with all the force he can muster. They practically ambush each other at all opportunities, almost competing for first prize in creativity. 

 

Zayn’s face down on the rug with Liam sucking bruises onto the side of his neck while working the handle of that damn brush in and out of him, with a pace slow and taunting, when he just opens his mouth and says it: “I think we shouldn’t stop.” 

Liam halts his movements before easing out the brush and leaning down until his own cock is lined up and pushing in. Zayn hitches back a moan and pushes back. 

“Stop what?” Liam’s just sort of grinding in, never moving too much at a time, because he knows Zayn goes crazy with that sensation. “This?” 

“Oh, oh. Yeah, all of it. Fuck, yeah… I mean, uh, even when we get out. Oh.” Zayn tries to shut his mouth and swallow back the stupid words, but having Liam’s dick deep inside him sort of does things to his brain. 

“Definitely not.” Liam emphasizes his words with two sharp juts against Zayn’s prostate. “I wouldn’t not sleep with you if they paid me.” 

Zayn can’t help himself from laughing out loud. “That didn’t make any sense… oh.” 

 

They only notice that the others have called numerous times after Zayn had eased himself off Liam’s lap, still breathing heavily. Liam reaches over to take the twelfth call from Louis and strokes a hand down to dip into the cum on Zayn’s thigh. He reaches up to push his fingers into his mouth while answering. “Speaking?” 

Zayn sucks obediently, twirling his tongue and scraping softly with his teeth, while he can hear Louis’ voice raging on. After a while Liam just puts him on loudspeaker and removes his hand, sighing heavily. 

 

“ – can’t believe you’re really so shameless, Payne, Niall was over here, traumatized, okay? We had to give him bloody counseling and make him soul food all day. God and Zayn that little cheeky fucker you never told me he was such a screamer, for god’s sake –“ 

 

Zayn shakes his head, face flushed with embarrassment. Couldn’t they have built that second cabin somewhere far off? 

 

“Louis, we can discuss this tomorrow, when Paul’s here, can’t we?” Liam’s sounding like an exasperated baby-sitter, rolling his eyes. “I’d like to get back to Zayn, you see.” 

Louis is stunned for a moment, and before he can open his mouth a speak another word, Liam has pushed the right button and is tossing the phone somewhere in the direction of the table. 

 

“So.” He’s looking at Zayn, smiling. 

 

____

 

 

What greets them when they get out of the car is a Swiss village full of reporters and photographers and even a few extra desperate fans. 

Their families are in a local hostel, all huddled up in the lobby. There are a lot of tears and hugs and promises to never get snowed in again, with Louis’ little sisters asking whether they saw the Yeti or not. 

 

Zayn has both his arms around his mum when he looks across the hall and sees Liam next to his dad, gazing his way. 

 

He hesitates for a moment, then bites down on his lip, before slowly dragging his tongue across. 

 

FIN.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! :-)


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